


What You Were Born To Lose

by 17826



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Acceptance, Canon Compliant, Cooking, Denial of Feelings, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 02:17:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19032721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/17826/pseuds/17826
Summary: I'm okay, Bucky replied, both of them watching as that old Steve stepped back through the portal. I'm okay, Bucky repeated, and he found Sam's hand and gripped tight with all the strength he thought their bones could bear.Bucky's not okay, he just doesn't know it yet.





	What You Were Born To Lose

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Jenny Owens Young , Born to Lose , from the album An Unwavering Band of Light which is Maximum Bucky Feels , highly recommend
> 
> I'm having a bit of a play with the punctuation and grammar stuff here , so there's no quotation marks or anything - I'm hoping it's not too confusing cause I wanted to give it a go , but lemme know what u think ! Please !
> 
> Also I know Wanda isn't a teenager anymore really and Lizzie Olsen is not a teen neither , but imagine she's proper 18yo Wanda in this anyway . Trigger warnings for the usual stuff referenced in any Bucky fic but nothing too graphic

You okay man, Sam asked, that was some crazy, and then trailed off. Maybe unable to finish, maybe unwilling.

I'm okay, Bucky replied, both of them watching as that old Steve stepped back through the gold circle drawn in the air by the Other-Bucky. The Other-Bucky had a shaved head and blue robes and only one arm. I'm okay, Bucky repeated, and he found Sam's hand and gripped tight with all the strength he thought their bones could bear. The portal closed and the last golden spark disappeared.

 

I'm gonna miss him, Sam whispered that night into his neck as Bucky slumped on top of him and gasped through the aftershocks of his second orgasm. The shield was tucked safely under the bed beneath them.

How could he, Sam started, and Bucky interrupted him, _don't_ , and kissed him just to stop him talking.

Bucky, he tried to say against the lips, so Bucky took his bottom lip between the teeth and tugged until Sam was moaning and rutting his hips up for friction against Bucky's thigh. There was blood on his tongue and something was beating in his throat and he was certain for a second that he was going to be sick. Bucky, Sam whispered shakily as he came. Sam, Bucky whispered against the underside of his jaw. Sam cried and Bucky didn't.

 

Bucky dreamt of Steve on his knees in front of him, sucking his dick, which was ridiculous, because they'd only had sex once and Bucky had been the one on his knees. As soon as that thought formed, the dream switched and he was on his knees and Steve, his Steve, skinny and angry and with a perpetual black eye, was knighting him with a huge sword that he was struggling to lift. Careful, Bucky tried to warn him as the sword hovered over his head, you could hurt someone with that, but Steve just told him to shut up and let it fall to the seam between Bucky's neck and shoulder and then the head hit the ground with a thump and he'd been beheaded until he woke up swallowing a scream. Sam twitched beside him as he got out of bed but luckily didn't wake.

He slipped out of their room and walked silently down the corridor, down the stairs, out the front door. He'd passed the kitchen where Clint and his wife were talking, close together in the semi-darkness, and they hadn't noticed him so he repaid them by not listening in.

Outside, the moon was hidden by the clouds but bright, casting a cold, omnipresent light on the lake which made the world in black and white. Bucky kept his eyes fixed on the water and the gray smoke reflections of the clouds until they became abstract shapes shifting nonsensically. He matched his breathing to his footsteps as he walked to the edge of the lake, then to the sounds of the tiny waves as he set off round it.

He was hungry, he thought, or maybe just wanted a smoke, but he'd left his pack in their room. He could do with a drink probably. What he really wanted was some heroin, even despite his memories of that kind of withdrawal. He remembered the rush of it in his veins even though it had been decades since he'd last had it, since hydra had found more efficient ways to ensure his willing return. He'd bought some in Bucharest but never got round to trying it before Captain America had shown up and shot his whole life to hell.

Fuck you, you clueless fucking dumbass, he said aloud. You stupid bastard, you shit-for-brains asshole.

There was a raw feeling in his diaphragm that had settled some time while he'd been watching the actual hulk set up a time machine. It felt taut and wretched like sandpaper; when it moved, it forced something out of his chest and dripping down over his stomach until it settled in his aching knees. Bucky thought inexplicably of the sloe gin Falsworth had once made for them somewhere near Saint-Étienne, how it had gathered in drips as it was strained through white muslin cloth. He knew it had been red at the time but it was black in his mind's eye like the lake water beside his feet. Falsworth hadn't had enough sugar so when they tried it, it was sharp and bitter against their tongues, but they'd still drunk it all.

 

On his second lap past the house, a thin girl rushed out from the porch to join him, and it took him a second to remember her name. Want some company, she asked him in Russian, and when he shrugged, she fell into step next to him. Put these on, she said and handed him a pair of headphones which went into a splitter which went into her phone. She was also wearing headphones and it was a good excuse not to talk so he put them on.

The music was unfamiliar but good, a female voice singing in English and the beat compelling enough to make them both walk in time to it. It was very teenage girl, from what little Bucky knew of this century, and then he considered asking Wanda if she was still 18 or if she was 23 now. Given that he couldn't even begin to guess at his own age, he thought that might be a hypocritical question, so he just kept walking until the album played itself out and they went together back into the house without speaking.

 

When he woke the next day, it was well past noon and he could immediately hear that almost everyone had left, gone back to their old homes or otherwise to build new ones. It was only him and Sam and Wanda now in this house, other than the people who lived there. Stark's family, and he was their guest.

Howard Stark's granddaughter was playing tag outside with Sam and Rhodes's husband, the man everyone called Happy. She was called Morgan, Steve had said, and she'd been very quiet at the funeral, but she was shrieking with laughter now. Beneath that sound, he could hear the woman Pepper Potts downstairs saying to Rhodes, I don't think she really understands what's happened.

She's only five, Rhodes replied, we can't expect her to get it immediately.

But the way she looks at the door like she expects Tony to come through it any minute, Pepper Potts said. No, I'm alright, she continued after a moment.

They miss him, Bucky thought to himself clearly. The wood cracked under his hand and he realised he was holding onto the bedframe way too tight. When he pried open his fingers, sawdust and splinters fell from his palm onto the floor.

 

They left that evening and drove to Sam's flat in DC, alternating 90 minute driving shifts. Wanda slept on the back seat the whole way and they arrived at half one in the morning. Wake up little one, Bucky had said gently, but she hadn't, so Sam had carried her to the bed in the guest room. He joined Bucky in the bathroom after that, ashen faced. Natasha was the last person who slept in that bed, he said, and Bucky kissed him and let him cry against his shoulder.

After a few minutes, it was clear they weren't going to get to cleaning their teeth so Bucky swilled his mouth out with mouthwash and made Sam do the same before leading him to bed. Together, they'd swept the dust off the covers and opened the window to get the stale air moving before undressing and curling up together. Sam clung to him with a ferocity and a stubbornness that was familiar, but he was shaking in a way Steve never had.

She knew you, didn't she, Sam said quietly, before, I mean. When she was in Russia.

Yes, Bucky said, I trained her. Natalia.

There was no sound for a long while except Sam's hitched breathing. Bucky held his own lungs still until the air inside was about to tear them apart. When he could bear it no longer, he whispered it out of him, pushing all the air through the half-familiar Hebrew, the everlasting is her heritage and she shall rest peacefully at her lying place, but he hadn't started it properly and he didn't finish it because she had once told him that she wouldn't want a funeral. Sam seemed to understand, his head lifting off Bucky's chest to watch and then take Bucky's face in his hands and pull their lips together softly. There were tears between them, on Sam's lips and Bucky's cheeks, and Bucky was surprised to realise that he was the one sobbing.

It's okay, Sam said, stroking his hair as he cried, you're okay. Bucky rolled them over so he could press Sam into the mattress, cover his body with his own, curl around him and feel every inch, know beyond doubt that he was safe and breathing and here. Don't you ever, he threatened incompletely, thickly, trying to get impossibly closer. I won't, promised Sam, I won't if you won't. I won't, echoed Bucky, pressing it against Sam's collarbone, I wouldn't.

You would, said Sam.

But I won't, Bucky said.

 

Wanda didn't leave the spare room the next day, but Bucky left some spaghetti bolognese outside her door in the afternoon and when he checked in the evening, it was gone.

 

The day after that, Bucky took Sam's car and went to the grocery store to get food, because the house had been left unlived for either nine months or six years, depending on how you looked at it, so all that was left was rice and baked beans. He'd seen Wanda briefly as she slipped into the bathroom that morning and Sam had said she looked in need of pancakes. We all are, Sam had said, and Bucky had rested his forehad on Sam's slumped shoulders and agreed. So when he pulled into the monstrous grocery store, it was with a long shopping list in hand.

It may have been monstrous on the outside, but inside was so big it was comical. Miles and years of shelves stacked with garishly bright packaging stretched in front of him, offering him everything his heart could ever think to desire, most of it buy-one-get-one-free or half-price-for-a-limited-time-only or family-size, the latter of which could only possibly be true if your family was a football team in both quantity and size. Fucking Americans, Bucky sighed, and started with the furthest aisle on his left.

By the time he was at the checkout, he was pushing two trolleys and holding a basket, thinking wryly that he could do with an extra set of hands to get this all out into the car.

When he got home, he realised he had four missed calls from Sam, and he was greeted with a hug that all but knocked the air out of him. I thought you'd gone, Wanda hissed. I just went shopping, Bucky replied, looking quizzically at Sam, who just shook his head. Uncertainly, Bucky wrapped his arms around her back, and she sagged against his chest.

I am all alone in this country, she said, and you are a bitch so take me with you when you go places, obviously. Then she stormed back into the house.

Teenagers, Sam mouthed, and came to help Bucky carry the shopping in. Why did you buy so much, he said when Bucky opened the boot, Jesus Christ.

Bucky shrugged. Hungry, he said, fast metabolism.

 

They made a fry up for lunch that could have fed half a dozen regular people or at least two supersoldiers. When did you learn to plait hair, Wanda asked when she was drawn downstairs by the smell of hot food. When I was 8, Bucky replied, in 1925. Wanda narrowed her eyes. When did you learn to plait your own hair, she asked.

This morning, Bucky said, I watched a youtube tutorial.

Wanda ate less than she should have done, but Bucky ate more and Sam ate a good amount so it all evened out and they still had leftovers to put in the fridge for tomorrow. After they'd put the dishes in the dishwasher, Wanda sat him down and redid his hair, neatening the braid so it caught more of the strands around his face. She looked at her handiwork, then pulled a choice few back out near his temples then hummed in satisfaction. Tah-dah, she said, and when Sam looked over, he dropped the pan he'd been washing back into the sink.

You like it, Wilson, Bucky teased.

Nope, Sam lied, it's whatever.

Wanda took a couple pictures from the front and back, then held her phone up for him to see. It was a simple and loose braid that made his hair look longer and thicker than it was, neat and symmetrical. The stands framed his face gently. You should lose the beard, she said.

Okay, Bucky said, because he agreed, and went to shave.

 

Over the next few weeks, the days became longer, stretching into a warm summer that felt, even with all the newly returned people in the world, quiet and calm. It rained rarely and the clouds seemed addicted to a beautiful shade of golden pink that they returned to every evening and every morning. Sam left the house most days, going to the gym or just taking walks around DC, sometimes driving out to Shenandoah or some other day trip-able place. On those days, Wanda would come with them.

Some days, though, Bucky went out alone because Sam couldn't leave their bed, or would leave their bed but couldn't get dressed. He still cried most days at something or other, and Bucky wasn't sure if he should be worried by that because google gave him wildly contradictory advice about grief. Wanda didn't seem to cry at all, and he still hadn't since that first night back in DC when he'd mourned Natalia.

The shield had been locked into its bag and tucked behind the shelves in the back of the garage, but it sometimes moved while Bucky was away, only minutely, only enough to say that someone was taking care to try and return it without arousing suspicion. Some days, Wanda carried herself with a conscious casualness, but that still didn't account for all the times it moved.

Bucky got into the habit of cooking every night, of cooking overlarge portions of stews and pasta and roasts and curries. He learned that Wanda loved ciorbă but Sam didn't, that Sam's favourite was pad thai so Bucky followed along with chefs on youtube until he was happy with it. It became part of his weekly routine to take their leftovers to a homeless shelter a few blocks away, to talk to the man who earned his keep there by working as a janitor. The man was called Sasha and was just happy to speak in Polish again.

Jacob, he would say, it is so wonderful to hear the sounds of our home, is it not, and he would ask, where were you born again? Bucky would say Gdańsk, Wrocław, Warsaw, a different city every time, and Sasha would forget by the next Sunday.

One time, when Wanda had come with him, Sasha had said, your daughter is very beautiful, she must get it from her mother, and laughed heartily. She is, Bucky had agreed, and thought of Sam last night, clutching the headboard, she does.

Your papa is a good man, Sasha told Wanda in heavily accented English, a good cook. He's okay, I guess, she shrugged, and Sasha had burst into another loud laugh and hugged her. Wanda never came to help Bucky again with the shelter after that, and neither of them ever mentioned it to Sam.

 

It seemed to Bucky that July crept up on them, like it always had, but it never stopped surprising him. The date, after all, was arbitrary now, living on SHIELD backpay as he was. The days of the week only mattered because he tried to avoid tourist crowds on the weekends.

They watched a film together on the third. Wanda was tucked into the armchair and Sam and Bucky curled up on the sofa together, the cat Wanda had started feeding purring at their feet. The film was sweet and melancholic, about a girl who found herself in the world of the spirits, and Bucky had been as surprised as Sam to realise he didn't need the subtitles to understand most of the Japanese.

How many languages _do_ you know, Sam had asked, bug eyed. Bucky had thought for a moment and replied, don't know.

I speak four, Wanda had piped up, it's only Americans and the British who think monoligualism is normal.

Hey, I can get by in Spanish, said Sam. Can you though, Bucky had asked, in Spanish, and Sam had whacked him upside the head with a cushion.

While the credits rolled, after the cat, now christened Radish Spirit, had settled in Wanda's lap, Sam said softly, I don't know what I'm gonna do tomorrow. Yeah, Wanda agreed quietly, and they shared a sad look.

Why, what's tomorrow, Bucky asked, I was thinking of trying this bakery that does challah, if you wanted to join me.

There was a dense silence.

What, Bucky asked.

Buck, Sam said with the air of those young people with elderly relatives, it's the fourth tomorrow, it's his birthday, it's, but they hadn't said Steve's name in this house yet and Sam seemed reluctant to start.

Oh sure, Bucky had grinned, course it is.

No, it really is, Wanda had said, independence day.

Bucky rolled his eyes. Yeah, he said, what a coincidence, the Captain and the country, born on the same day. Steve was a winter baby, he's November 21st.

Sam's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. Sorry, he said, it was when?

November 21st, 1918, Bucky said, Steven Grant Rogers.

There was another silence.

That _bastard_ , Wanda burst out, at the same time as Sam said, he never told us, and Wanda continued, I baked a cake for him, I did that three years running and he never fucking mentioned, and Sam was almost laughing, he never even said! They were both talking with their hands, dislodging the cat, who gave a disgruntled meow and paced off.

Yeah, they remade his birth certificate when he got the serum, Bucky explained, he only mentioned it when we were ass-over-tits in Swiss mud and it looked like Morita was about to bleed out, he wanted to make us laugh, he probably couldn't be bothered to change it once he got- his voice broke.

So did something under his ribs, or in them.

Wanda was out of the room faster than the cat had been, disappearing silently up to her room. He tried to push Sam away too, instinctively and desperately, there was something in him trying to get out, and he knew that feeling- that-

Pictures flashed before his eyes, disjointed from the audio, which echoed badly. Steve, on the helicarrier, bloodied, beaten black and blue, _promising_ him, 'cause I'm with you till the end of the line, then reaching for him against the white sky and gray metal, shouting his name, looking at him with horror in his eyes as the world turned to dust.

Steve, barely looking at him as he walked towards the time machine, old and gray and gentle at the edge of the lake as he passed Sam the shield, eyes focussed on Peggy in that London pub as Bucky glanced between them and felt the ugliness settle inside him. Steve-

Steve. Steve, _Steve_ -

 

Time was lost for a while after that. He remembered going upstairs, he remembered sunrise through the frosted windowpanes, he remembered the sound of gunshots all around him. They echoed on the tiles, in the bathtub, against his ears. Someone was banging on the door, making this noise, was being insistent and relentless, so he got up out of the dry tub and left through the window. He ran until he was out from between the buildings, and a few miles after that too, just in case, until he found a half standing barn, the roof caved in a the wood burned. He slept there dreamlessly then got up and continued, walking rather than running because something told him to conserve his energy in situations like this. He went until he could go no more, until he found a glowing building filled with food next to a busy highway. The only other person in there took one look at him and turned the other way as he raided the shelves.

He continued walking, aiming northeast, walking until his limbs stopped picking themselves off the floor. He found, the second time, a campsite in which a group of teenagers were sleeping off hangovers. He took their food and their water and considered stealing their truck, but he didn't. He did steal a hairband from one of the backpacks, something in his fingers telling him to put it on his wrist.

Two girls lived in his head, one white, orange hair, almost an adult, eyes that didn't meet his; the other was younger, dark skin and black hair, eyes that looked too keenly and saw too much. They prodded at him and guided him to places where he slept, not restfully but deeply.

Sometimes he was visited by a demon, a man with short brown hair and a navy jacket and a beautiful face that was always contorted in horrible ways. The demon would chase him, often sending him off-course or forcing him to double back on himself. It made screaming pain noises, it never stopped, he could hear it a mile off, but this was sometimes more welcome than the sound of the two girls which he couldn't quite make out, whispering and indistinct.

Where am I going, he pleaded of the three, each in turn, and none of them ever answered. At least, none of them gave him an answer he understood.

He had bruises on his torso he didn't remember getting and cuts acros his forearms. A ringing noise in his head started at some point and seemed to keep to demon at bay for a while, until he found a cabin and drank a litre of water and ate a can of beans, unheated. He threw them both up ten minutes later but it must have hydrated his body a little because the buzzing stopped and the demon was there. It was bleeding from the chest, a black stain spreading across the blue jacket. It wasn't screaming at him, for once, so he yelled at it until he was hoarse and nauseous, then he slept.

When he stumbled across an interstate and the compass in his head ran out, no longer a homing beacon, he thought, this must be it then, as he looked at the treeline. It wasn't particularly significant-looking, he didn't know what made this different to all the other forests he'd come across with the vague signs of habitation and the cold air that suggested wind over water. A lake rather than a river, he thought, and he walked forwards because he was thirsty.

There was a girl in front of him.

She had been hidden by the trees, she was younger than the girls in his head, a lot smaller. Her hair was brown, a bit darker than the demon's. She made a noise with her mouth, and her head tilted as she looked up at him.

There came another noise from his left and then stuff started happening very quickly- a thing was there, a big thing, a loud thing, running towards him, and he knew it was running because it was man-shaped but green and impossibly huge as it leapt in front of him. It was making these noises that were low and urgent and shaped in a way that was-? It was familiar, or almost-familiar, or should-be-familiar. He concentrated, picking out this one sound that kept repeating, morr-gen, morr-gen. He tried to copy it, moar-gun, and then the girl was crying in the green man-thing's arms, and a huge hand came too close and he sprang back, one arm up to protect his head, the other reaching for- for-

A woman appeared out of nowhere, white and strong and scared but trying to hide it, and her red hair was shorter than the last time he- he-

Buh-kee, she said, sah-jeunt bahnz, she said, then, soldier?

Ready to comply, he replied and Bucky realised the woman was Pepper Potts, and this was Stark's home, and that was Bruce Banner and Stark's granddaughter, and he was Bucky. He was waking, again.

He was choking on the words, God I'm so sorry, couldn't speak fast enough, fuck, what day is it, I'm so sorry, I don't know what I'm doing here, is Sam-

Slow please, she interrupted, it is Tuesday, all good?

Yeah, I'm okay, I'm, he realised they were speaking Russian and changed back to English, okay, I'm not going to hurt her, I don't know why I came here, I'm sorry.

Banner visibly sagged with relief. Oh thank God, he said. Pepper didn't let her guard down, snapped, take her into the house, please Bruce, and without question, he jumped away. Morgan was still crying, and Bucky couldn't help but wince at the echoes of it in his mind.

I'm sorry, he said again, unable to stop, I don't know what happened, what day is it? Tuesday the...?

Tenth, Pepper answered, Sam Wilson reported you missing on the sixth. Oh God, Bucky said, hollow and horrified. Had he stolen those campers' vehicle? Were they left for dead, without food or water, hidden away in that secluded clearing? Has there been any, he started, have I done anything that, and Pepper shook her head. No reports of suspicious missing people cases or anything, she said, which covered a multitude of sins.

He nodded and stumbled back, leaning against a tree as he sank to the floor. He ran a shaking hand over his face, taking a single breath under it and closing his eyes. He heard Pepper kneel in front of him, tense and on her toes in case she needed to run. He consciously relaxed his shoulders and moved his hand away from blocking his face, up and over his hair, and-

He doubled checked, running his hand over it again. And a third time, and again with his prosthetic hand. He laughed.

What, Pepper asked, voice wary, what's wrong?

My hair, he said, astonished, it's plaited, Wanda was teaching me, I plaited it, I, he shook his head, this is the best one I've ever done. He laughed again, leaning his forehead on the bark and closing his eyes. The soldier had never known how to do that.

 

Sam and Wanda arrived two and a half hours later and Bruce took one look at Bucky before retreating to the house with Morgan and Pepper. Bucky was, absently, grateful, because God, this was going to be embarrasing.

Sam got out of the car slowly, leaving Wanda bristling inside as he walked round and stood infront of her door, obviously covering her body with his own. Bucky wondered how he'd convinced her to agree to that. Hey, he said. Hey, Sam replied warily, who am I talking to right now?

Bucky, Bucky said, I'm Bucky, you're Sam, it's 2023.

Alright, Sam said, but he stayed guarded and kept leaning against the car, not coming any closer. So I'm guessing you're not actually processing all of this as well as you thought you were. Guess not, Bucky replied, and from inside the car, Wanda called, he's not stabbed you yet so can I come out?

Bucky didn't let himself laugh.

Please, she said.

He felt his lip twitch.

Ugh, Sam groaned, and stepped aside to let her out. You're a fucking baby, he said, at least let me pretend I could protect you from one unstable baby boomer.

She could protect you better than you could protect her, Bucky pointed out helpfully, and Wanda chirped, it's true, as she got out of the car. You're both disrespecting the ranking officer, assholes, Sam said. Not in the Russian system, Bucky said, besides, she's Sokovian and I lost my American citizenship in 1963, technically.

As Wanda laughed and Sam sighed with the weight of Atlas, the tinnitus in Bucky's head faded and he became finally aware of his body. He was hungry, _fuck_ he was hungry, and the old ache in the bottom of his spine had returned from before Shuri made him this arm. Something was twinging in his neck and he was definitely sunburnt, but that wasn't all.

He remembered being confused as he'd been walking, something pinging up in the back of his mind, telling him to report the wound to long-dead handlers. His ribcage had been wrenched open, making space for whatever it was that was expanding past the limits of his body, pushing outwards and upwards and stretching him beyond what he'd ever felt even in the chair. Hell, but it _hurt_. he was confused by his traitor heart beating double time, keeping him alive even through this. Why should it give up, really, after it had carried him so far.

He thought of Brooklyn and watching Steve's chest rise and fall minutely as he fought off his latest illness, of praying to Steve's God and his ma's and his own that Steve not leave him just yet, and thought, Jesus, what right did I have to ask for that?

He could feel his mouth clamming up, his jaw locking as the grief set in, old and inevitable. He'd always known, on some level, that Steve would go first, because that's how the world works; Bucky deserved to hurt so he'd live forever, and Steve deserved the best, so he would have to leave.

There was a hand on his side, under his arm, somewhere soft and hard to defend.

You wanna go home, Sam asked, and he'd stepped close without Bucky noticing.

He tried a smile but he knew it didn't make it far. Yeah, he said, barely voicing the sound. Yet when Sam made to move away, Bucky clutched at his shoulder and pulled him back, unable to ask, but of course Sam knew, and then they were clinging together. You're okay, Sam murmured, you're okay, and Bucky was worried that his heart might fly up his throat and away, so he kissed him, letting Sam's mouth catch it. He held the back of Sam's neck and kissed him until he was gasping, and Bucky was trembling and-

Wanda coughed pointedly.

You can make out in the back seat if you want, she said, I'll drive. Sam looked at her. She shrugged. If we leave now, we'll be home in time for the Voice semi-finals.

Since when can you drive, Sam asked, incredulous. I learnt when I was 15, she replied, you can get your license at 16 in Sokovia, and it's internationally valid. You're telling me this now, Sam squawked, after we've been driving you round for months?

Bucky let his forehead fall against Sam's shoulder, hiding a smile. He counted his breaths in and out, feeling them pass through his lungs and calm the monster in his chest. They'd go home, they'd watch the Voice, hopefully his favourite would make it to the final. She was called Tina and she had no delusions about the limited lifespan of Voice contestant success. He'd ask Sam in the car to put on Carly Rae Jepsen's new stuff, because it was a brilliant album, and if he played the pity card right, Sam might finally agree. Probably not though. Either way, Wanda would be on his side, and she might be able to overrule if she was driving.

Let's get McDonalds for dinner, Bucky said, quietly, forcing it past his teeth as he walked to the car, unwilling to let go of Sam's hand. Seconded, said Wanda, and Sam agreed without a beat. We fucking deserve it, he said, and Bucky's ribs knotted back together and became scar tissue.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's just to get Buck to the first stage of grief ... He's got a long road ahead but it comforts me to think of him finding a family with Sam and Wanda , because they all need each other ^^
> 
> I literally flop every half an hour so between acceptance and disbelief at Steve's decision at the end of endgame , still , so I'll probably disagree with myself half an hour after posting this but ¯\\_ (ツ)_/¯ I'll play with the sandbox I've been given then I'll build my own one later
> 
> Like I said , this is a new way of writing and idk how I feel about the result but it was fun to do ! Lemme know any confusions u had and I'll try n fix em a bit at least ! All comments immediately love in my heart , and kudos are also appreciated ~ thanks for reading and loads of love x


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